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The simplicity of the gesture stunned her into passivity.
She held still as he lifted his head and stared down at her.
She blinked, not moving, as he continued to stand there, his hand on her chest. “I want five minutes of your time . . . over a cup of coffee. An hour for lunch. I want you to pick up the phone when I call, talk with me for a while,” he said, staring into her eyes while the blue green of his gaze cut into her.
Then he leaned in and pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her chest, just above the neckline of her sweater. “I want to peel your clothes away, learn each and every one of these insanely sexy tattoos . . .and the reason behind them. I want to know what makes you laugh, and I want to know what makes you mad. I want to know what sort of book you’re reading whenever I’m in the office—I’ve asked, but you always toss it down when I walk by and you never answer me.”
His breath was a caress on her flesh and she broke out into goose bumps.
Her heart raced and she couldn’t even begin to understand why there was a knot in her chest.
Then he lifted his head and caught her skull between his hands, leaning in to lightly brush his lips over hers. “You see, Keelie . . . I want a lot more than a quick fuck from you. But every time I try to get even five minutes of your time,” he murmured, each word low and raw. “You pull away. The one time you actually did talk to me? That was three months ago. At the wedding. You gave me five minutes and then I put my hands on you and since then, you’ve run even harder, even faster. So maybe you can understand why I’m a little leery about just what is going on here.”
Quick as a wish, he was gone, standing five feet away, and she slumped against the wall, her knees weak as she stared at him.
Her heart lurched, lunged inside her chest, and the voice of common sense told her one very simple message.
Time to go.
Except everything else compelled her to stay.
He pressed his thumb to the wide, soft curve of her lower lip.
Eyes on that curve, he said, “So . . . what? You here looking for a quick fuck, Keelie?”
She jerked, tried to pull away.
He didn’t let her, leaning his weight more heavily against her although he knew full well he might be tasting his balls, bloody and broken, in his throat in a moment.
“Back off,” she bit off.
“No.” He dipped his head, rubbed his lips against hers, and when she averted her head, he skimmed them along her neck. “I’m just trying to see the picture that’s so obvious for you. I mean, I’ve been trying to get you to go out with me for . . . hell, three years now, if I remember right.”
Three years. Eight month. Two weeks? Not that he was counting, really.
When she did nothing, said nothing, just watched him with those inscrutable eyes of blue and brown, he leaned in and buried his face against her hair. Black and white again, the chunks of black framing her face.
“What’s this obvious thing I’m missing, Keelie?” he asked.
Then his eyes just about crossed, because instead of outright answering, she twined long, long legs around him and arched, pressing the heat of her sex against him and rocked. “This . . .” That pink flush rode her cheeks, hotter now, brighter, while her eyes practically glittered at him. “This. Isn’t it obvious what’s going on?”
Zane couldn’t help it. He caught her hips in his hands, his fingers digging into the curve of her ass as he leaned into her and rocked against her, hard, fast. Once, twice.
She shuddered and met him. And when he stopped, she whimpered.
He slid a hand up, closed it over her throat. The mad beat of her pulse against his palm drove him insane. He wanted to cover that fragile bit of skin with his mouth and bite down, suck on her skin until she shivered and whispered his name.
Instead, he said, “There are a lot of names for what this is. A quick fuck, like I mentioned. Keelie, that’s easy, and either one of us can get it any way. I’ll be honest . . . that’s not what I want from you.”
In the year since her life was torn apart, Kit Colbana has slowly rebuilt herself. There’s a promise of hope in the relationship with the alpha of the local shapeshifters and she no longer comes screaming into wakefulness. Life’s not perfect but then again, when was it ever?
When her best friend Justin comes to her for help, there’s little question as to what her answer will be. Witches are disappearing and Justin won’t rest until he has answers. Soon, they learn that it’s not just witches who’ve gone missing, but vampires and shifters, too.
Unlikely alliances are forged as Kit and Justin found themselves drawn into a twisted web of lies and betrayal. As the clock counts down and the culprit behind recent disappearances is revealed, those Kit loves the most become the target of somebody who will kill to protect an ugly secret.
Prep could be a pain in the ass. All the things necessary to get yourself ready, it was a nuisance that I would love to live without, but sadly, the kind of life I lead sometimes calls for prep.
Not that you can prepare for my life.
Not that I can prepare for my life. The few times I tried, life went and kicked me in the face.
I’m learning, slowly, how to kick back.
I wouldn’t doing much kicking in the shoes I’d just slid onto my feet, though. My balance is stellar, but it’s just plain stupid to go kicking at something when you’re standing on a spiked heel not much bigger than a toothpick.
Shoot me now, I was wearing heels.
And what would probably be considered something sort of…dressy?
I don’t know.
It was a costume.
I’d never been to a costume party in my life and if I was smart, I would have said no to this one, but impulse sort of drives my life.
I’m Kit Colbana. On just about any other day you could find me in a pair of battered jeans or black BDUs, a T-shirt and my vest. My vest—man, I felt naked without it. I’d seen an old knife in a junk store once—it was called a Swiss Army knife and although the blade on it hadn’t been shit, the knife itself had been full of useful little gadgets. Maybe not useful in my line of work, but for somebody who wasn’t crazy? Yeah, pretty useful. Scissors, screwdriver, tweezers, corkscrew…you never knew when you’d need a corkscrew.
The knife reminded me of my vest.
I could pull almost any damn thing out of my vest.
But that damn thing didn’t go with sparkly green. And it was unlikely I’d need weapons.
Unlikely. That didn’t mean impossible.
But I was going to a party and I’d be with Damon. So I guess in a way, I did have a weapon. He just walked and talked and grew fur and fangs.
Nerves fluttered in my stomach.
I was going on a date with Damon and I was wearing a dress and I wasn’t taking my weapons.
Panic seized me and I lunged for my trunk. No way, no how could I do this without some kind of weapon. My hands fumbled with the clasp and it only got worse as I thought about where the party was going to be, who—not a specific who but a who nonetheless—would be there.
It was a party thrown by the Assembly. There would be vamps there.
I wanted to puke.
Something red caught my eye. Power zipped up my arm and I hissed, instinctively jerking my hand back, only to pause and reach for the blade more slowly. It was a pretty piece and even years after its bearer had died, you could feel the power inside it. Druids were rather famed for creating pieces of magic—relics even—that carried their magic inside them for decades, even centuries, after their deaths.
Most Druids worked with more…natural…mediums. Wood, for example. I’d once seen a Druid’s staff and I’d coveted it so badly, I had sketched out plans to steal it.
But it was on display in the Smithsonian.
I’m greedy, but I’m not stupid.
It’s National Novel Writing Month. NaNo.
I’ve never done NaNo before but a lot of people do….are you one of them?
So rights reverted back on some of my EC titles, including this one…
It’s only 0.99 for the holidays!
After a naughty Christmas wish, Vikky discovers that she has a wicked secret admirer. Taunted by teasing notes, seduced by sinful promises, she finds herself living out some of her wildest fantasies.
Erik had no idea that agreeing to play Santa would put him back in Vikky’s orbit—or that she would make such a sexy Christmas wish. Unable to resist her warm blue eyes or the promise of her amazing body, he gives in to the urge to fulfill her Christmas fantasy.
But what started out as fun turns into so much more…
Please note: This title has been previously issued. It has been substantially re-edited with a fair amount of rewriting, but very little new material has been added.
One of her hands went around his neck but the other started to reach for the blindfold. “Don’t touch it, Vikky.”
If she saw him and pulled away…mine. He couldn’t help but think it. Mine. The thought of her pulling away shattered him.
Her hand fell away as he carried her inside, lowering her to the floor beside the kitchen table, bending his head to buss her lips. “I’ve things I want to do to you,” he murmured, walking around her, staring at her as she stood there. He freed the clasp on her cloak and tossed it on the table behind her. It fell across the smooth surface like a blanket as he caught the tangled, twisted material of her skirt.
By the time he had the skirt and her panties off, his hands were shaking.
She stood in front of him now wearing an emerald green sweater and boots.
He slid a hand around her waist and pulled her against him, his hand smoothing across the taut, silken skin of her ass.
”Don’t you want to know what kind of things?” he asked.
She sucked in a breath. “Yes.”
“Things I’ve dreamed about…Vikky, sugar, you wouldn’t believe my dreams.” He lifted his head and watched as he brought his hand down on the plump curve her ass—a sharp, stinging little slap.
When the harsh, hungry cry fell from her lips, Erik could have growled in triumph. ”You like that.”
“Yes.” She gulped in air.
“You told me that,” he murmured, dipping his head to brush his lips across her shoulder. “When we talked online. You told me all sorts of things, Vikky. Did you mean them?”
Her response was a startled inhalation of breath…and a slow nod.
“Good. Now…take off your sweater. I want to see you. All of you.”
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